


Smudged Starts

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-13
Updated: 2005-11-13
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:17:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Gryffindor's last hurrah turns into an occasion for Harry to open mouth, insert foot.





	Smudged Starts

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for Wave 1 of the [Woobies of Destiny: Harry/Neville FQF](http://www.remembrall.slashcity.net/wod/). My challenge was "Boys in eyeliner." Yeah, don't tax yourself too much there, Marks.  


* * *

"Just...just hold still, would you?" Hermione made a frustrated little noise and stamped her foot. 

"I _would_ ," said Harry testily, "if you would stop stabbing me in my _eye_." 

Harry wondered how girls did it. All that preparation and the clothing built for style, not comfort. Not to mention the intricate hair-removal processes or the layer upon layer of make-up spackled on their faces. Not that he'd agreed to any of these indignities, mind, but, after what felt like ten hours of Parvati and Lavender whining, he'd agreed to trousers that fit a little _too_ well and a t-shirt with some random numbers across the front. Squinting and batting Hermione's hand away again, he glanced down at his chest, pondering what sort of significance 'sixty-nine' held, anyway. And when Parvati's squeals reached frequencies only dogs could hear, he'd thrown up his hands and agreed to the eyeliner, but only because all of the other boys had also agreed. The fact that they'd all been forced into it was beside the point. 

"How'd you get suckered into doing me, anyway?" Harry's eyes fluttered rapidly as Hermione attacked his eyelid again. "It's not like you ever wear this stuff." 

Hermione blushed and answered very quickly. "Lavender asked me to help out because she and Parvati had so much work to do with the other four and they said you'd be the easiest because you're already so...uhm, feminine." Clearing her throat, she had the good grace to look abashed. "It's the eyes, I think." 

"Great," Harry grumbled, throwing his hands up in the air. "My life's ambition has been fulfilled -- I'm the pretty, girly one." 

"Oh, don't be greedy, Harry -- you've enough titles already." Hermione prepared to attack his face again. "Look up." 

Harry obliged, though he couldn't stop blinking. "Tell me why I agreed to this again?" 

"Because we're leaving Hogwarts, because the war's over and you're its hero, and because we need to be reminded of what fun is?" 

"Ah, right. Ow!" 

Hermione sighed heavily and, finally giving up, threw the offending pencil over her shoulder. As Harry watched it clatter to the floor, Hermione drew her wand and aimed at his face, barely giving him time to flinch. 

His eyelids tingled. "There," she said approvingly, taking a step back and examining her work. "You're beautiful." Off Harry's look, she amended, "In a perfectly manly way, of course." 

"Naturally." He slipped his glasses back on and offered his elbow. "Let's head back inside; I'm dying to see how stupid everyone else looks." 

Predictably, there were catcalls when Hermione and Harry re-entered the boys' dormitory. Harry blushed and seated himself on the edge of his bed, gazing at the others around him. Dean and Seamus were far more made up than Harry and dressed in tighter trousers and brighter shirts, both laughing as Parvati picked lint from their outfits. As she artfully tousled Seamus's hair, she grumbled about them having better legs than she did. Ron, like Harry, had only consented to the eyeliner and he seemed as self-conscious about his outfit as Harry did. He didn't know what Ron was so worried about; his friend's legs looked far better than Seamus's _or_ Dean's, even if he had insisted on dressing in the Cannons' god-awful colours. 

Harry shook himself free of that thought. If he wasn't more careful, someone might think he liked _blokes_ or something. 

Just then, there was a commotion behind Neville's still-closed curtains. Ah, of course. Harry hadn't noticed anyone was missing. He heard Lavender say, "Stand up and give a little twirl, then!" This was quickly followed by a gasp and then Lavender's voice again. "Well! Yes, Neville, I'd say you're ready." 

Still hidden, Neville complained, "I feel ridiculous." 

"We all feel ridiculous," Harry called good-naturedly. "If you don't come out this instant, I'm going to be forced to...hex...you..." Harry's jaw dropped as Neville emerged with his shoulders slumped, looking decidedly self-conscious. 

Harry was in shock -- the kind of shock that made it near impossible for him to stop staring. It wasn't that Neville was dressed all that differently than the rest of them, though the long-sleeved, deep red shirt and dark jeans certainly weren't Neville's normal way of dressing. It wasn't his hair, even though that was styled a bit differently, too, reminding Harry of his own messy look, and it wasn't the eye make-up, though the kohl that circled Neville's eyes made them stand out in such a way that Harry couldn't help wanting to count every individual eyelash. Neville's face was still round, the baby fat Neville had never quite outgrown still present, and he was definitely still recognisably Neville. But the whole picture gloored Harry and he'd be damned if Neville didn't look absolutely...ethereal. 

Ron leaned over and soundly clapped Harry on the back, nearly knocking him over. "Harry, close your mouth," he said in a loud whisper, gesturing at Neville. "He doesn't look _that_ bad." 

Neville's face fell, having obviously heard Ron's mistaken assertions, and Harry was overwhelmed with the urge to punch his best friend in the stomach. 

***

Once they'd got going, Harry's anger at Ron dissipated. After all, it was no easy task sneaking eight seventeen-year-olds out of the castle, though having the Head Boy and Girl with them did go a long way toward making the situation easier. The feelings Harry had for Neville -- whatever those might have been, though Harry felt quite sure 'confusion' was one of them -- hadn't lessened one iota, however. 

Unusually quiet, even for him, Harry kept trying to work up the nerve to talk to Neville during the long walk from the castle to Hogsmeade. All around him, the other Gryffindors spoke excitedly. Lavender and Parvati nattered on endlessly, talking about dreamy boys they were going to meet and shoes and whatever other subjects Harry tuned out regularly, while Hermione giggled as the other two girls tried styling her fly-away hair as they walked. Ron and Dean loudly continued the six-year-plus football versus Quidditch argument, while Seamus played jovial referee. Only Neville was as quiet as Harry, looking down at his shoes, hands shoved in his jean pockets. Harry felt horrible for making his friend feel that way, but he knew whatever came out of his mouth would just make a bigger idiot out of him, so he brooded and studied Neville intently, feeling helpless. 

He wondered exactly what was happening to him. It wasn't like he'd ever had any trouble speaking with Neville before. In fact, they'd been getting along very well ever since the day in sixth year when Harry drunkenly confessed the entire contents of the prophecy that linked them. The summer before and over Christmas holidays, he'd nearly worn out Hedwig, what with the flurry of letters that travelled between them and, of course, they'd worked side-by-side in bringing about Voldemort's demise. When Bellatrix Lestrange sent a hex in Harry's direction, Neville jumped in front of it without hesitation, even though he had no idea what spell it was. Harry knew he felt friendship and gratitude towards him, but had never really considered the possibility that there could be more. 

Neville glanced Harry's way, their eyes briefly meeting. Harry desperately wanted to say something to take Neville's hurt away, but his voice caught in his throat and the butterflies fluttering in his stomach quickly turned to stone when Neville dejectedly looked away again. They'd reached Honeyduke's then, distracting Harry for a time. Everyone huddled over the coordinates Lavender had received from her older brother, who'd recommended the club, and prepared to Apparate. Harry pushed away any troubling thoughts and concentrated on his destination. There'd be time enough to worry later. 

***

The club was smoky, dark, and a little too reminiscent of the Chamber of Secrets for Harry's comfort, which wouldn't have been so bad if he'd been in a better mood. Apparently, Neville had decided to push aside any hurt feelings because he was having a grand old time now, laughing and dancing, surrounded by their group and more than a few complete strangers. Seamus was being particularly touchy-feely, much to Harry's chagrin, pressed against Neville's back and guiding him into dancing in time with the music as he whispered something into Neville's ear. When Neville threw his head back and laughed, Harry shrank further into the corner of the booth where he'd been keeping watch. 

After Lavender managed to coax Seamus away, he was quickly replaced with a girl wearing more make-up than Parvati and Lavender combined -- and that was really saying something -- and a rat's nest of blonde hair, which Harry bitterly thought couldn't possibly be her natural hair colour. He wouldn't have cared, except the girl kept giggling and _touching Neville's arm_. He thought he saw Neville shoot a look towards him, but Parvati suddenly blocked Harry's line of vision and, frustrated, he tried peering around her. 

"Harry, why are you sitting here?" 

"Isn't that the general purpose of chairs?" Harry racked his brain, trying to think of any spells that would temporarily make her completely see-through. 

"That is _not_ what I meant." Parvati flicked her long braid over her shoulder and slid into the booth next to Harry, pressing her thigh against his; Harry was grateful he had a clear view of the dance floor again. "Come on and dance with me. You have to have improved since the Yule Ball." Parvati traced a line up and down Harry's forearm. 

An absurdly good-looking dark-haired boy joined the blonde tramp in vying for Neville's attention. "No, I haven't." He brushed her hand from his arm, just as Parvati followed his line of vision. 

The dark-haired stranger's face was just a hair's breadth away from Neville's, who was definitely looking at Parvati and Harry. Parvati gave a sharp laugh, startling Harry. "Well," she said, arching an eyebrow, "I can see I'm barking up the wrong tree. But I must say that it explains an awful lot." She slid out of the booth, patting Harry's hand conciliatorily. 

For a split-second, Harry questioned what Parvati meant by that, but then he got wrapped up in his important schedule of moping in Neville's direction again. 

After about ten minutes, he started feeling disgusted with his inability to just talk to someone he'd known for years and, defeated, he bent over, forehead connecting with the table. The wood felt cool against his skin, though the compulsion to start banging his head against it and chant 'stupid, stupid, stupid' was a bit overwhelming. Someone tapped his shoulder and he bolted upright, startling the waiter who'd roused him. "Drink from the guy at the bar," the waiter said in bored tone, gesturing vaguely and placing a shot glass of something clear in front of him. 

Guy at the...? 

Once the waiter was gone, Harry examined the patrons near the bar, eliminating candidates. The big-haired blonde girl who'd been flirting with Neville was out. He knew he couldn't rightly rule out the greasy, middle aged man who looked very out of place in the room full of young people, but he did so for his own sanity. A couple of other people weren't looking his way at all, including Hermione, who was talking to Neville. Neville, however, was most definitely watching Harry and raised his own shot glass up in a toast. Flustered, Harry hesitated for a second before deciding to flee, but Neville was too fast for him. 

"Hi." 

Suddenly finding the object of his obsession at his side, Harry quickly downed the complimentary shot, making a face when the alcohol burned his throat. "Hi," Harry spluttered, choking. 

Neville fixed Harry with a stare, his dark-rimmed eyes intensifying the effect. "You know, I've been thinking." 

Still coughing, Harry managed to reply, "Have you?" His stomach churned from a combination of liquor and nerves. 

"Yeah. I've decided it's all right if you think I look stupid because I'm here to have fun and so should you be. It's not like I dress like this every day or something and we all look a little silly, so you don't have to keep avoiding me." Neville half-smiled. 

Harry was dumbfounded. "It's not like that, Neville," he said, searching for the right words. "I think--" 

"You don't sugar-coat it, you know! I know I'm not much to look at and we can't all look as good as you do in a pair of jeans." Neville's eye make-up had smudged slightly in the heat of the club, his forehead dotted with a thin sheen of sweat; Harry grew fascinated with the way the perspiration soaked the front of Neville's hair. Wait. Had Neville just complimented him? 

"You...it's just that. Dammit!" Harry wiped his own sweaty brow, feeling completely at a loss. "I don't think that--" 

"Fine," Neville interrupted again, his eyes flashing angrily. "I understand how it is, Harry. I thought maybe you'd want to dance or something, so I worked up the nerve to buy you that drink, but I can see that I'm not _good_ enough to be seen in Harry _Potter_ 's presence. I'll go find someone who actually wants to spend time with me." He started to get up, but Harry grabbed Neville's arm, yanking him back down. Wide eyed, Neville looked at him in some surprise. Harry took a deep breath and lurched forward, covering Neville's mouth with his own, though his palms were disturbingly sweaty and he could almost _feel_ his heart thudding in his chest. Neville made a startled noise as Harry devoured his mouth, coaxing it open with his tongue. 

God, this feels good, Harry thought, tangling one hand through Neville's damp hair and sighing into the other boy's mouth. When he pulled away a moment later, Neville's face still wore a dazed expression and Harry noticed Ron, Dean, and Lavender standing nearby looking equally flabbergasted. Harry's chest constricted and he mumbled a sincere apology to Neville before launching himself out of the booth and hurriedly pushing his way through the crowd to freedom outside, ducking into the alley alongside the building. Once there, he doubled over and drew several shaky gulps of air, absolutely mortified by what he'd just done. 

After he'd taken a moment to regulate his breathing, Harry felt a bit better. Bracing both hands against the wall, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the brick, trying to calm himself enough so he could focus on Apparating away from this place, this night, this total, horrible embarrassment. There were only a few weeks of school left, after all, and Harry figured he could find a way to avoid everyone until then. Okay, on the count of three, he thought to himself. One...two...thr-- 

"Harry, wait!" 

Damn it. Harry recognised Neville's voice and though he could have disappeared and pretended like he hadn't heard, Harry felt compelled to stay. 

Neville ran to catch up with him, a bit out of breath himself. "Why'd you leave?" Neville's cheeks were flushed and that intent gaze had returned as he briefly raked his eyes up and down Harry's body. 

"I'm sorry for what happened in there, Neville," Harry mumbled, turning and shoving his hands into his pocket. "I don't know what got into me." 

"Why the hell would you be sorry?" Neville said, taking a step closer to Harry. "I've been wanting to do that for ages." 

Harry, who'd been studying Neville's shoes, snapped his head up. "What?" 

"Never had the nerve. And I figured you wouldn't be interested, especially since I didn't have any idea you liked boys." 

Harry laughed sharply, breath catching again as Neville continued to close the distance between them. "Neither did I," he exhaled, just as Neville's body pressed against his. 

"This all right?" Neville murmured, face nearly touching Harry's. Harry nodded, eyes widening a bit. "How 'bout this?" Neville bent his head slightly, catching Harry's lip between his teeth, biting gently. Harry whimpered. 

"This?" Neville brought a hand up to Harry's cheek, stroking with his thumb and studying him with needy eyes, claiming Harry's mouth as his own. Neville's lips were soft and warm, moving slowly over Harry's at first, then more earnestly as Harry responded favourably. His tongue played over Harry's lips, inviting them to open, as Harry circled his arms around Neville's waist drawing him closer. 

Harry's hands roamed nervously over the small of Neville's back as Neville's warm, rough tongue massaged his own. Harry was having some trouble believing this was actually happening; the fact that Harry had these feelings was surprising enough, but knowing Neville returned them was something else entirely. He gasped as Neville's hands moved down his sides, finding their way under his shirt. Neville pulled his hands away immediately, examining Harry's face. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned. 

Harry nodded. "I'm just a little shocked, is all." He sounded far breathier than usual. 

"Do you want to stop?" Neville didn't bother masking the note of disappointment in his voice. 

"God, no!" As though to prove this point, he hooked his thumbs in Neville's belt loops and yanked the other boy even closer, the force of the movement neatly sandwiching Harry between the brick wall and Neville. Harry reached up to drag Neville's head towards his again, desperate to feel his mouth. Neville's hands worked their way back under Harry's shirt, seeking every inch of Harry's back, then the sparse trail of hair on his stomach, finally working their way up to catch a nipple between surprisingly deft fingers. Harry, whose hands had barely strayed from the accidentally exposed patch of skin at the small of Neville's back, wasn't sure when Neville had grown so daring. 

He liked it. 

Neville trailed kisses all along Harry's neck and jaw, nipping and licking nearly every inch of exposed skin as warmth travelled throughout Harry's entire body. Harry threw his head back due to the sheer pleasure of it all, crying out when the fingers on his nipple increased the pressure on the sensitive flesh. He bucked his hips, astonished to realise just how hard he was and even more astonished when he noticed that Neville was just as hard. Experimentally, Harry rolled his hips, deriving great pleasure from the noises Neville kept making as Harry repeated the motion and, finally screwing up the courage, worked his hands over Neville's chest and stomach, in awe of how soft and warm Neville was all over. 

As both boys' movements sped up, bringing their erections into almost-contact over and over, their kissing grew more desperate, hands tangled in hair or moving over skin. Harry was quite sure he'd never felt so good in his life, so he was disappointed when Neville broke their heated kiss, panting. Harry carefully watched Neville, whose eyeliner was now smudged beyond repair and whose lips were swollen and temptingly pink. "Is something wrong?" Harry asked, worrying his lower lip and dreading the answer. 

"Yes." 

"We can stop, if you want." It was almost _painful_ to say the words. 

"No, that's not it, Harry." Neville's and Harry's eyes were locked, neither daring to look away from the other. "It's just...fuck, Harry, if you don't touch me now, I think I'm going to die." 

"Oh, God." Harry revised his 'things that make Harry feel entirely too good' list for the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes as he reached for Neville's flies, undoing them as quickly as possible. "Would you...would you want to touch me, too?" 

Neville looked at Harry like he was crazy. "More than anything." He undid Harry's top button and dragged the zip down too slowly for Harry's liking. "I have no idea what I'm doing." 

"Neither do I," Harry confessed. 

Neville laughed and, apparently making a decision, reached into Harry's underpants, hand wrapping around Harry's cock and pumping experimentally. 

"Is that good?" Neville asked in a husky voice. 

Harry, who'd never been touched this way, thought he managed to answer, though he wasn't sure "Nnnggh" was too helpful as far as feedback went. 

Attempting to elaborate, he worked his way into Neville's jeans and y-fronts, sliding his own hand up and down Neville's shaft. Harry still felt out of his element and Neville's cock felt strange when compared to how his own felt, but he tried do what felt good to him, only in reverse, and if Neville's moans were any indication, he was doing an all right job. Neville increased his speed in order to match Harry's actions and soon they were crying out in unison. 

Without warning, Neville kicked his leg up in an odd half-hop, bracing his body's against Harry's so he wouldn't topple over. Using his free hand, he retrieved his wand, which had been tucked into the holster strapped around his shin, a habit they'd all picked up during the last few missions. "What are you doing?" Harry asked curiously, wondering how Neville could shift and still cause -- _oh_ \-- Harry to feel so fucking good. 

"Lubrication spell," Neville explained. 

"Don't know any of those," Harry said as Neville incanted the charm. "You've got to teach me." 

Neville grinned. "Can't do that. How else would I get you to do this again?" 

Something warm and wet covered both of their hands and, as the sensation increased ten-fold, Harry hadn't any idea how he'd done so long without them. Neville's closed hand slid easily over Harry's skin. "Oh, fuck. Don't think that'll be a problem." 

"Yes," Neville panted in reply, burying his face into Harry's shoulder blade. 

"Ah," said Harry as Neville squeezed his prick a bit harder. "God, don't stop." 

"You either." 

"Won't." 

"Can't." 

"Ah, fuck, Neville, keep doing that." Harry sucked on a particularly wonderful patch of Neville's skin. 

"Harry!" His name was muffled because Neville's mouth was buried in his shoulder. 

"Yes, God." Harry thrust his hips, fitting the rhythm of Neville's hand. 

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop," Neville chanted. 

"Oh! I can't hold on much longer." Harry leaned his head against the brick again, closing his eyes, and just _feeling_. 

"Kiss me." Neville lifted his head and their lips met again, neither holding back their moans at all. Harry felt his breaking point approaching; Neville thrust against him a few more times, then Harry was coming hard and calling out Neville's name. At the same moment, the sound of Neville's voice crying out Harry's name echoed in his ears as the sensation of wetness spread over his own hand. 

They were still kissing as they recovered, though less urgently than before, in just slow exploration. When Neville finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against Harry's and cast a cleaning spell. "Wow." 

Harry pulled his hand from Neville's trousers. "Wow," he agreed. He buttoned up his jeans, trying to rearrange himself into a respectable manner. When he noticed Neville's dishevelled state, Harry figured he didn't stand a chance of achieving respectability. 

"We should probably head back inside. Everyone's probably worried sick by now." 

"Selfish of us, really." 

"Very," said Neville. "We've been quite naughty." 

Harry grinned. "It was for a good cause." 

"Very," Neville said again, offering Harry his hand. 

As they headed back inside, Harry cleared his throat, knowing there was something he had to say. "Neville?" 

"Yeah, Harry?" 

Harry looked at the ground, then at Neville's face again. "The eye make-up looks nice." 

"Thanks. Personally, I like you better without it. Think we can have a repeat when you look...well, when you look like Harry?" 

"I'll wash my face as soon as we get back." 

Neville laughed. He had a nice laugh; Harry vowed that he'd make him do that as often as possible. "Sounds promising." 

Harry held open the club's door, ushering Neville inside, ready to re-join Gryffindor's last hurrah. The realisation that they'd soon be entering the real world struck Harry as he snuck a sidelong glance at the other boy. "Yeah. It does." 


End file.
